Quote:” City planners have long warned against overloading central arteries with industrial traffic. Port Harcourt, being a commercial hub, must observe those cautions. Let this Government House corridor not become a permanent choke point.”

It was midmorning when the rumbles began. From the direction of the factory opposite Government House, a long convoy of heavy trailers edged slowly into the already congested artery. Drivers, helpless, contended with idle cars, impatient motorbikes and pedestrians hawking wares. The gridlock that ensued was inevitable  and dangerous. That stretch of road has long struggled with traffic, even under normal circumstances. But when trailers laden with goods destined for that factory arrived in the heart of the city, the resulting chaos tests the limits of road safety and civic order. What should have been a routine delivery turned into a spectacle of stalled vehicles, honking horns and frustrated commuters.Commuters arriving from the east and west found themselves at the mercy of fate. Buses squeezed past gaps, sometimes brushing mirrors.

Motorcyclists always audacious darted between trailers and cars, risking life for a few extra seconds. Pedestrians, navigating narrow sidewalks, were sometimes forced onto the road. A mother clutching her child crossed dozens of vehicles to reach a bus stop. An office worker, already late, dashed between vehicles narrowly avoiding being clipped by a reversing trailer. A delivery van, stuck mid?way, belched smoke as its engine laboured. It was a microcosm of urban mayhem. The danger is not hypothetical. One trailer, reversing without adequate sight, could crush small vehicles behind it. A sudden jerk of an overloaded container might dislodge cargo. A pedestrian stepping from between cars is invisible to a trailer’s blind spots.  In the event of fire or medical emergency, blocked lanes could turn a crisis into tragedy.Residents in nearby quarters — the civil servants’ neighbourhood, local shops, offices  stood to suffer the most. Their streets are collateral damage.

 The hum of commerce is stifled, delivery schedules disrupted, lives endangered. In moments like these, city planning is revealed naked  its flaws exposed for all to see.One elderly man, waiting for a bus, remarked: “All I need is ten minutes to reach my office. But today, I cannot even cross to the bus stop safely.”His voice quivered, not from fear alone, but from frustration. Others muttered about lack of traffic control, absence of escorts, poor coordination.It is tempting to blame just the truck drivers. But the problem is deeper. The timing of deliveries, the route choice, the lack of alternative access roads, and the absence of coordinated traffic management all conspire to produce this mess. Government House being the focal point only magnifies the stakes.We know this area in Rivers State is sensitive, high profile. Government officials, dignitaries and official vehicles traverse that corridor many times a day.

To see trailers lumbering past security parlours, squeezing past guard booths, is to court risk both symbolic and physical. At least twice this year, small collisions have occurred there  a trailer striking a road divider, another brushing a sedan. Thankfully injuries were minor. But next time, the outcome may not be so forgiving. The margin for error is shrinking. What can be done? The first step is scheduling. Heavy trailers should not come at peak hours. Late-night or early?morning slots, when traffic is minimal, should be mandated. This simple shift would relieve the burden on daytime traffic. Second, alternative access. If the factory had a back entrance or service road away from the main artery, trailers could avoid the central route entirely. Even a temporary bypass could serve until permanent measures are built. Third, coordination with traffic authorities. The state’s traffic management agency must be looped in — to provide escorts, clear pathways, regulate entry and exit times. Without their presence, chaos reigns.

Fourth, strict enforcement. Trailers that defy timing orders or block lanes should attract penalties. Fines, impoundment, or delays could discourage reckless scheduling. Consistency here matters. Fifth, signage and awareness. Drivers, residents and commercial operators alike must know the restrictions. Clear signs, public announcements and coordination with the factory management will help. No one should claim ignorance. Sixth, advance notice. Residents and road users deserve alerts when heavy traffic is expected. That way they can plan alternate routes and minimize exposure to danger. Seventh, standing zones. Designated holding areas for trailers — safe zones where they can queue without entering the congested corridor. This would prevent multiple trailers crowding into the central route at once. If these measures are ignored, the dangers worsen. A panic situation — say a health emergency in that neighborhood — could be fatally delayed by gridlock. Fire engines or ambulances might be unable to manoeuvre. Lives would hang in the balance.

Insurance costs will rise. Businesses fronting the road may suffer loss of customers. The reputation of city management will take a hit. And worst of all, a tragic accident might claim an innocent life. We can end this madness but only if the will is firm and immediate. Rivers State government must act. The factory management too must show responsibility, coordinating delivery times and ensuring their drivers comply. A committee comprising traffic authorities, local government, factory management and community representatives  should be formed, tasked with drawing a traffic relief plan, fast. Sit?downs, surveys, consultations — done in days, not months. In the interim, emergency measures can help. Temporary traffic diversions, rope-off lanes, manual marshals guiding trailers, police presence all can ease the burden while long-term plans are prepared. Community vigilance is critical. Residents and road users must report blocking trailers, reckless driving, and violations to authorities. If the populace insists on accountability, officials are more likely to act.

City planners have long warned against overloading central arteries with industrial traffic. Port Harcourt, being a commercial hub, must observe those cautions. Let this Government House corridor not become a permanent choke point.The tragedy of inaction is that the problem compounds. Tonight’s chaos seeds tomorrow’s delay; next week’s near?miss becomes a crash. If we let the problem persist, we court disaster. This is more than a traffic story. It’s about governance, foresight, respect for human life. It’s about restoring order in a city that cries out daily for planning and discipline. Let no more trailers barge freely into this corridor. Let us refuse to accept gridlock as normal. Let Rivers State reclaim its roads, its safety, its dignity. It is time to end this once and for all.

By: By King Onunwor

Quote:”The next time you find yourself at the scene of an accident, remember that there are real people involved, with real stories and real struggles. And there’s a real opportunity for you to make a difference”.

Accident happens in an instant, but its impact can last lifelong. When the sounds of screeching tires and crunching metal fill the air, it’s human nature to turn and look. But what drives us to gaze upon the wreckage, to slow down and stare at the scene of an accident? Is it morbid curiosity, a desire for a thrill, or something more complex? In the moments following a crash, a strange and fascinating dynamic unfolds – one that reveals as much about us as it does about the accident itself. In this story I am about to tell, we explore the intriguing and often uncomfortable world of accident scenes and the people drawn to them, where the lines between tragedy and attraction blur. The story goes thus: As the flames from the remains of the vehicle filled the air, a crowd began to form on the sidewalk. Some people gathered out of concern, others out of curiosity. A few stood frozen, their eyes fixed on the wrecked vehicle on fire.

On the floor lied my dad who looked physically fine and ignored by the onlookers whose only attention was the vehicle burning and the people inside of it screaming for help. Maria, a nurse on her way home from work, rushed towards the scene to offer assistance. “I saw the whole thing happen,” she said, her voice shaking. “I had to help.” Meanwhile, a group of teenagers snapped photos and videos with their phones. “It’s gonna be all over social media,” one of them exclaimed. An elderly woman, her eyes welling up with tears, muttered a prayer under her breath. “It’s just so tragic,” she said, shaking her head. “Those poor people.” A young professional, sipping on a coffee, gazed at the scene with a mix of fascination and disgust. “I don’t know why I’m staring,” he admitted. “It’s like I can’t look away.”  There was no emergency team around but onlookers continued to gather. Some were drawn in by a desire to help, others by a morbid fascination.

 Some were moved to prayer, others to social media posts. But all were united in their shared gaze, a reminder of our shared humanity.  All attention was brought back to the only survivor when he was about to take his last breath and was rushed to a nearby hospital and  offered medical attention where they discovered he had been bleeding internally and lost so much blood. That single thought of taking him down to a hospital saved a soul, the soul of my father! That help rendered has provided a chance for me to still have a father today. Accidents are a rare moment when our private lives intersect with public space. Usually, our personal struggles and tragedies play out behind closed doors, invisible to the outside world. But when an accident occurs, the private becomes public, and we’re drawn to the spectacle like moths to a flame.

We’re drawn to them because they represent a primal fear, a reminder of our own mortality. But we’re also repelled by them, because they confront us with the harsh realities of life. In the end, our fascination with accidents is a reflection of our own humanity – our fears, our vulnerabilities, and our deep-seated desire to connect with others. So, the next time you find yourself at the scene of an accident, remember that you have the power to make a difference. Instead of just rubbernecking, take a moment to do the following: Offer assistance if you’re able; call emergency services if no one else has; provide support and comfort to those affected; and share your own experience and insights to help others.Together, we can create a culture of care and compassion, where accidents are not just spectacles to be gawked at, but opportunities to connect with others and make a positive impact.

The next time you find yourself at the scene of an accident, remember that there are real people involved, with real stories and real struggles. And there’s a real opportunity for you to make a difference. By offering assistance, support and compassion, you can help turn a moment of tragedy into a moment of connection and community. You can help break down the barriers that separate us and build bridges of understanding and empathy. So let’s make a pact to approach accident scenes with kindness, compassion and care. Let’s make a pact to see the humanity in each other, even in the midst of chaos and destruction. Together, we can create a world that’s more compassionate, more empathetic, and more connected.

By: Favour O. Olorunfemi

Quote:” Not everyone gets the chance to say thank you to the teacher who made the difference. Some have moved on. Some have passed on. But their influence lives on in every book written, business started, problem solved, or student mentored by someone they once taught”

Every year on October 5th, the world pauses to honor a group of individuals who shape the future with nothing more than a whiteboard marker, a patient voice, and an unshakeable belief in potential: teachers. World Teachers’ Day is more than just a date on the calendar—it is a reminder of the quiet, powerful influence educators have in shaping lives, societies, and futures. For many, the day evokes memories of classrooms filled with chalk dust, books stacked high, and a steady presence at the front of the room guiding lessons, asking questions, and waiting—always waiting—for that lightbulb moment in a student’s eyes. While every teacher leaves a mark, there’s often one who makes a deeper impression. One who doesn’t just teach but transforms. For me, that teacher was Mrs. Okoro.I met Mrs. Okoro in Junior Secondary School Two.

I remember walking into her English Literature class with the usual mixture of adolescent apathy and anxiety. English had always been a subject I tolerated rather than loved. To me, it was a series of essays, comprehension passages, and exam questions about metaphors and similes that seemed more confusing than meaningful. But Mrs. Okoro didn’t teach English. She lived it. She had a way of stepping into the classroom like a performer stepping onto a stage. Her voice carried energy, her expressions demanded attention, and her passion was infectious. Within weeks, I found myself looking forward to her classes—not because I suddenly loved Shakespeare or Chinua Achebe, but because I saw in her someone who believed in what she was teaching, and more importantly, someone who believed in me. The beauty of an exceptional teacher lies not in how much they know, but in how deeply they care.

Mrs. Okoro had an eye for those students who tried to stay invisible. I was one of them—never the loudest, rarely the top of the class, often unsure of my own voice. But she noticed me. One afternoon, after returning our essays, she held mine up—not to ridicule, but to read it aloud to the class. My heart pounded as she read my words, giving them life and rhythm. When she finished, she looked at me and said, “There’s a writer in you. You just need to let them out.”It was the first time someone outside my family had validated my potential in such a specific, personal way. That one comment, simple as it was, sparked something in me that would never fade. From that moment, I started writing more. I filled journals with stories and poems. I volunteered to read aloud in class. I even entered a school writing competition—and won.

World Teachers’ Day celebrates the efforts of educators around the globe who go beyond teaching curriculum to nurturing character. That was Mrs. Okoro in every sense. She taught us about empathy through literature, helping us connect to characters from different backgrounds, cultures, and histories. She encouraged debate, critical thinking, and respectful disagreement—skills we would come to rely on far beyond the walls of that classroom. She also taught us grace. I remember once when a student mocked another’s reading aloud. Mrs. Okoro stopped the class, not with anger, but with a calm that silenced the room. “We don’t laugh at people trying,” she said. “Trying is where learning begins.” It was a simple statement, but the dignity she afforded every student left a lasting impact. It is often said that teaching is the profession that creates all other professions.

That may sound like a slogan, but it’s true in the most personal of ways. Without teachers like Mrs. Okoro, I might never have found the confidence to write, to speak, or to believe that my ideas mattered. Today, I write professionally. I speak at conferences. I mentor others. But behind every achievement is the echo of a teacher who once said, “There’s a writer in you.” Imagine that: a single sentence, spoken in a secondary school classroom years ago, setting off a chain of events that would define the trajectory of a life. That is the power of teachers. World Teachers’ Day, established by UNESCO in 1994, aims to commemorate the adoption of the 1966 ILO/UNESCO Recommendation concerning the Status of Teachers. It is a day to advocate for the rights and responsibilities of teachers and to appreciate their essential contributions to education and development.

But beyond the global observance, it is also a deeply personal day for many. It is a day to reflect on the individuals who, in their own unique ways, lit the path ahead for us when we couldn’t see it ourselves. Not everyone gets the chance to say thank you to the teacher who made the difference. Some have moved on. Some have passed on. But their influence lives on in every book written, business started, problem solved, or student mentored by someone they once taught. If your teacher is still around, consider writing them a letter, sending them an email, or simply letting them know the role they played in your story. If they’re not, honor them by being the kind of person they believed you could be—and by supporting teachers around you who are trying to do the same for others.

World Teachers’ Day is not just about celebrating teachers in general, but also about recognizing your teacher—the one who changed the way you saw yourself. For me, that teacher was Mrs. Okoro. Her name might not appear in the pages of history books, but in the story of my life, she’s a chapter I will always return to.  October 5, may have come and gone, it should continue to remind us of the need to celebrate our teaches, remember their words, share their impacts,  and  where possible, be that kind of light for someone else.

By: Sylvia ThankGod-Amadi